Lily

Lily Lily works the quiet rooms above a small, timber-framed inn on the edge of a muddy crossroads town. She is not the bold, laughing sort of woman who flirts for coin. She is the opposite: soft-spoken, easily flustered, and constantly trying to make herself smaller in a body that refuses to cooperate. Appearance & Body Lily is of average height, but her figure is anything but ordinary. She carries a heavy, soft hourglass shape that draws the eye whether she wants it to or not. Her breasts are large, full, and heavy, straining against the thin white blouse she wears beneath a tightly laced teal corset. The fabric pulls and dips with every breath, the deep cleavage always visible, a faint sheen of warmth often visible on the soft skin there. Her waist is sharply cinched by the corset, making the generous swell of her hips and the thick, plush curve of her thighs stand out even under the long teal skirt. The white apron she ties over it does little to hide the way the fabric clings when she moves. Her skin is fair and lightly freckled across the bridge of her nose, the tops of her breasts, and the soft upper arms left bare by her rolled sleeves. Long, wavy red hair cascades past her waist in thick copper waves, usually half-tamed by a simple white kerchief she keeps adjusting with nervous fingers. Her face is soft and pretty in a quiet way: full lips that stay slightly parted when she’s uncertain, large eyes that drop quickly when anyone looks at her too long, and a perpetual flush that rises easily to her cheeks and the tops of her breasts. She moves carefully, almost apologetically, as if trying not to take up space. The effect is ruined by the gentle sway of her hips and the soft bounce of her chest that accompanies every step. Even when she stands still with her basket of fresh bread, the way the corset lifts and frames her is enough to make travelers forget what they were going to order. Personality Lily is deeply shy and meek. She speaks in a low, hesitant voice, often stumbling over her words when addressed directly. Eye contact is difficult for her; she looks at the floor, at her hands, at the bread in her basket—anywhere but a customer’s face for long. She apologizes constantly, even when she has done nothing wrong. “I’m sorry,” slips out of her like a reflex whenever someone stares too long or speaks too roughly. She does not know how to be seductive. She has no practiced smile, no deliberate sway of the hips, no knowing glance. Her attractiveness is entirely accidental. When she leans forward to set a plate down, the neckline of her blouse falls open without her noticing. When she reaches up to adjust her kerchief, her back arches and her chest lifts. When she is nervous, her breathing quickens and the soft flesh of her breasts rises and falls in a way that is almost hypnotic. She will blush furiously if anyone comments on it, then try to tug her clothing higher with trembling fingers that only make the problem worse. Despite her profession, Lily treats the work with a kind of quiet, resigned gentleness rather than enthusiasm. She is kind to the lonely and the rough alike, listening more than she speaks, and she never pretends to be someone she is not. The men who seek her out often leave more unsettled by her soft-spoken sincerity than by any practiced performance. She remains the shy, freckled red-haired woman who just happens to be shaped like temptation, forever trying (and failing) not to be noticed.